


A tale about The End

by Nair_Dee



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Apocalypse, Bad Ending, Death, Desperation, End of the World, Everybody Dies, Gen, Modern Era, POV Outsider, Speculation, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-23 23:48:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20348836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nair_Dee/pseuds/Nair_Dee
Summary: It started long ago with the apparition of the Homo Sapiens.No God had anything to do with The End.





	A tale about The End

It started with the Amazon Forest's fires. 

False. 

It started with the worldwide rise of the ignorance and the egoism of the elites. 

Nearer, but still untrue. 

It started the first time a human looked around themselves and thought: "_All this could be mine._" And he found ambition. And The End started.

* * *

Ah, this a lot more like it. Don't say that Nature isn't wise; the button of reset was there since the early days. It was a question of being tall enough to push it.

* * *

Before it became obvious that it has started though, people lived on. Some with will and dreams, others with the grim certainty that all was for nothing - and still the hope of a long time to go before the death of life -, others without thinking about anything. _Eat, reproduce, shit, die._ That was the outlook no matter the persuasion and the philosophy of the human being. 

Sages were imponent against the meaningless definition of their existence. All kind of lies and mercy truths were told to appease the masses and still, their collective comprehension wasn't enough to understand that some things are impossible to learn and capture when somebody is guiding you. Some things are meant to be experienced, absorbed through the skin from the air to the heart. 

And the air was foul, and the skin unclean with artificial care, and the experience was lost in a brain more accustomed to being spoonfed with other's lies. It wasn't new. It was something in process since the first empire and the first reign and the first village. Let's not lie; The End always came by humans hands.

* * *

And still, the world was beautiful. Outside their heads -_impossible to avoid, we know, we know_\- there were other things, impossible things being true and material. Places where nobody had lived since aeons lost, trees and flowers simple and living right at home, giving Earth air and freshness and places where to experience without future or past.

Beauty in children before cognition kicked in, beauty in sleep and the rest of the dead. Beauty in the water that ruins homes and brings life, beauty in the fire that purifies and is started by a storm. Beauty in the wild and quiet things; animals of the night and the day.

Even in some of the creations of humans. Some of them who were like an extension of nature, truly being a function of an alive being. The rest were born of unnatural wishes, how could you be more than everything else? Where is your right? 

The End is found in the death of beauty, when the line is lost between nature and fiction, and nobody ever realizes that there is no way to tell when playing God has taken too long.

* * *

When people started becoming aware that an end was near -_for it wasn't still certain that it'd be The End_\- only a few realised. Like the pulse of the heart, the clock in their heads counting down could only be perceived in _silence_. 

In the _silence_, one realises that everybody else is running ahead with earphones and a horrid song closing their heads, while you are admiring the view and each scream of _stop_ only marks the rhythm of death<strike>murder</strike>. Of course, this is only the metaphor.

The reality was: thousands of people, each time more and more, becoming disillusioned with their reality, with society, with dreams, with culture, with people. Denouncing who and what you are has never helped but the myopia of being in a brain which can only reflect what it senses gives birth to self-hate. And some of them still guarded a flame of something -_not hope, never again for more than one instant_\- but it was never enough. The rest was still drowning in dreams of grandeur and <strike>fake</strike>money, or not caring beyond the basic outlook. The two states were the definition of the coin_(humanity)_.

For the first time, humanity was big enough to achieve what was wished since the beginning: The End. And no amount of dreaming before dawn could save its prophets. 

* * *

Nobody can ever imagine the years before the end. Like in all texts: devastation first. A few wars here and there. A few cases of people doing what was right in a predestined course to failure. Famine. There weren't many recourses and it didn't matter because money is the panacea. Those absorbed in their self-importance didn't see. The others wished self-destruction. The rest prayed for people to sense. 

But it has been too late since decades before, since centuries before, since one human being looked around and said: "_This all is mine._" And others agreed. 

* * *

Death was the most common thing in the world, and now it truly was everywhere. The cycle was broken, nothing was being born.

People tried. They loved as if it would solve everything just before The End. How selfish, to only love to save yourself. How human. How useless at the face of The End.

_(Why does anything else matter? What of the flora and the fauna and the microbes? Well, they are existing and not thinking uselessly. They are dying as always without realising they aren't coming back. They are the lucky ones.)_

Humans didn't want to hear it was all on their decisions. Nor all the love or hate in life could have saved them now. Even feelings were starting to become muted, like a part of themselves knew they weren't needed anymore. Feelings, thoughts, bodies. They didn't matter. 

* * *

The End wasn't fire or ice or a whisper. The End was seven fictitious deadly sins, and humanity pushing the big bad red button, saying: "_Why should anything matter but for me?_"

And truth be told, even their deaths and the desert that they made of most of the Earth was meaningless. They weren't there anymore to say: _"How beautiful, how horrible, love me, save me, kill me." _

How sad, but there is nobody staring at the lost land. Maybe next time... _(but there is no more life to give. but the atmosphere vanished. but the seas dried. but maybe in another place where they weren't born the same way)_

* * *

**I guess I'll need to be more clear at listing the rules next time.**

**Author's Note:**

> If anybody has its own prediction of the end of our days metaphorical or literal, I would love to start a Collection or a Series here on AO3. A practical test on empathy and our abilities of prediction. Let's hope we are all wrong.


End file.
